Kiss My Demons Goodnight
by Quixotic-Feline
Summary: We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is a habit." -Socrates; The perfecting of two scarred souls. DHr
1. Chapter OnE

Dirt in the Ground

By:

xXNaziHaloXx

_What does it matter, a dream of love_

_Or a dream of lies_

_We're all gonna be in the same place_

_When we die_

_Your spirit don't leave knowing_

_Your face or your name_

_And the wind through your bones_

_Is all that remains_

_And we're all gonna be_

_Just dirt in the ground_

_The quill from the buzzard_

_The blood writes the word_

_I want to know am I the sky_

_Or a bird_

'_Cause hell is boiling over_

_And heaven is full_

_We're chained to the world_

_And we all gotta pull_

_And we're all gonna be_

..._Just dirt in the ground_

_Now the killer is smiling_

_With nerves made of stone_

_He climbed the stairs_

_And the gallows groaned_

_And the people's hearts were pounding_

_They were throbbing, they were red_

_As he swung over the crowd_

_I heard the hangman said_

_We're all gonna be..._

_Yeah yeah_

_We're all gonna be_

_Just dirt in the ground_

_Now Cain slew Abel_

_He killed him with a stone_

_The sky cracked open_

_And the thunder groaned_

_Along a river of flesh_

_Can these dry bones live?_

_Ask a king or a beggar_

_And the answer they'll give_

_Is we're all gonna be_

_Yeah yeah_

_We're all gonna be just_

_Dirt in the ground_

"Dirt in the Ground" by Tom Waits, the "Bone Machine" album

Disclaimer: The characters and situations do not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling, who is the creator of the Harry Potter world. The beautiful quotes belong to the great Greek philosopher, Socrates.

_THE ANCIENT_, dingy pub was completely obscured by a cloud of thick cigar smoke, illuminated eerily by the green-flamed torches hung on the rotting stone walls.

A mysterious stranger entered the pub, a cascade of long, shimmering silver hair escaping his top hat to flow freely down his cloaked back. A jagged, silver scar marred his white cheek, slithering down his neck and disappearing under his cloak. His eyes were hidden by dark burgundy shades.

He looked around the dimly lit chamber, scrutinizing each customer with a stony expression. After a few contemplative moments, he seemed to deem the pub safe, and began to slowly make his way towards the bar. The old, toothless bartender was busy washing alcohol stained glasses.

"One fire whiskey" said the stranger in a smooth, silky voice that suggested his aristocracy. The bartender, seeming to be at awe by the man's class, immediately set to work preparing the ordered drink with the utmost precision. The silver haired man looked around himself in bored indifference as he waited for his liquor.

"'Ere ya go, Gov'ner! That'd be elevn' sicks," chimed the bartender, specks of saliva flying out from his bare gums. The man wrinkled his fair nose slightly in disgust, taking out a black silk strip of material from his chest pocket, and whiping his face free from the old man's spittle. With a sneer, he flipped a gold coin with a skillful, gloved hand onto the surface of the lad.

"Keep the change."

Taking his drink, he ignored the many, "Thank ye, Gov'nor!" and began to weave his way around the many round tables occupied with raucous drunkards, seemingly looking for a place to sit. Or, perhaps, he was looking for a person or a lost trinket. It could not be said, as he gave nothing away by his statue-like expression.

The ominous footsteps made by his expensive, crocodile skin boots were vaguely heard even over the cacophony of the pub.

He looked left and right, carefully analyzing each person's behavior. Sometimes he would pause in his pursuit to take a sip from his drink, and then he would start his journey again. The only evidence of his impatience was the slight twitch of his pale lips. The minutes ticked by, and yet the stranger still continued to stalk around the chamber like a prowling wolf.

Suddenly, he stopped.

Whatever it was that he was looking for was found as he abruptly halted his march, and raised the elegantly sculpted corners of his lips in triumph.

Sitting in a secluded corner of the pub, thinly veiled by flickering shadows and velvet cigarette smoke, was a woman. She was hunched over what appeared to be a very thick volume, a long cigarette wand held loosely in her gloved hand as the other impatiently flipped through the pages of the book. Her dark brown hair was styled into a neat bob, and a half empty glass of Bailey's Irish Cream was perched on her table.

The stranger smiled. Not wickedly, but in something akin to relief and affection.

He melted into the shadows and stealthily slinked towards the oblivious woman, warm smile widening with each step he took.

And then, as he finally reached the edge of the table, his smile faded. The woman's hands were shaking. Very slightly, and not noticeably, yet the tremble was visible for his trained eyes.

"I knew you'd come," said the woman in a tired, raspy voice; as if she had been screaming for too long.

She looked up from the yellowing pages of the volume, and those huge, glittering brown eyes that used to brim with challenge and warmth seared a hole through the man's soul. They were no longer sparkling with challenge. They were no longer warm. They were dark and haunted and tired, eternally replaying lifeless eyes and rotting, massacred corpses lying limply in a blood flowing river.

He looked away from those eyes, allowing his platinum hair to fall over his face as a pretext not to look at her.

"I had to." She put out her cigarette after slowly exhaling through her nostrils, still looking at him with a calculating gaze.

"Have you ever heard of the Greek philosopher, Socrates?"

The stranger pulled out the chair opposite the woman, and gracefully slid into it with a noisy exhale of breath.

"No, I haven't," he answered, taking off his hat and hanging it on his backrest. She chuckled.

"I thought so," she said quietly, a small smile curving her lips. The stranger frowned, feeling a small ripple of irritation go through him at her veiled insult.

"Just because I haven't the time to read as much as you do, doesn't mean that you have any right to feel more smarter than me," he growled in a deceivingly blank tone. The woman was unbothered by his dangerous demeanor, and calmly swirled her drink around in it's glass cage.

"_The only good is knowledge, and the only evil is ignorance_."

The stranger quirked an eyebrow at what was obviously a quote.

"Not capable of using your own words, are you?" he asked, his earlier annoyance evaporating into oblivion. She smiled ironically, dropping her glass back onto the table with a loud 'thunk'.

"Nothing anyone can say that hasn't already been said," she said softly.

They lapsed into an eternity of silence, each lost in their own tangled thoughts. The volume of the pub was slowly starting to drop as people began to leave to go home for the night to their families. For tomorrow was the fifth anniversary of the _Golden War_. Funny, that is was called _Golden_ when nothing about it was grand or honorable.

The cigar smoke began to fade, and the room was now more healthily lit.

"I envy you, you know," he said quite suddenly. She didn't look up from her book as

she said, "_Envy is the ulcer of the soul.."_

He laughed slightly.

"When have you become this philosophical?" he asked with a grin. She looked up, not a trace of humor in her eyes, her cherry stained lips straightening into a firm line.

"What am I to be envied for, I wonder," she asked hollowly. The man looked disbelieving.

"You have a family! One that's loving, caring and—"

"Dead," she finished quietly. He looked away from those eyes. Once again, only the faint sound of murmuring voices was heard.

He drummed his fingers distractedly on the table surface, then began to trace a curiously shaped wine stain on the crème colored cloth.

The woman followed his gaze and stared down at the stain, a light frown marring her face.

"I wonder who left that there," she said airily, a deeply contemplative note in her tone. He looked up at her face, smiling slightly.

"Still have a writer's mind, I see." Her tinkling laugh filled their corner. His throaty one joined hers.

"It looks like..." she began, carefully examining the stain. "Like a pair of glasses."

He looked at it closely. Then he smiled.

"Looks like the one's Potter had," he commented, his smile dropping into a frown. She stared at it for a moment longer, then averted her gaze towards the ceiling.

"_Had_," she sighed. He placed his glass over the stain.

"He died smiling," she said suddenly. The man looked up, surprised. She looked dreamy and distant.

"His eyes were a vibrant green, and there were frozen tears on his cheeks. And he was smiling so brightly..." she trailed off, a far off look in her eyes.

She looked at him with a smile of her own.

"But that was a long time ago," she said, going back to her book, her face turning grim and serious as she forced her eyes to move from word to word, not really seeing them but necessity demanding she do what everyone expected her to do; read.

He watched her.

"You know..." he began. She murmured a 'Mhm' to show that she was listening.

"You're the most amazing person I've ever met." She was looking at him again.

"Just a muggle-born witch, but so selfless..."

"_I am not an Athenian or a Greek, but a citizen of the world." _She said. "I am not a Mudblood or a witch, but a citizen of the world. You are, too."

"I know that now."

And then, quite suddenly, he reached out a gloved hand and gently tucked a stray strand of shiny brown hair behind her ear. She looked up, momentarily startled. He smiled sadly.

"I remember when you cut your hair," he said in a distant voice. She looked at him with a glassy gaze.

"Long hair can only be a distraction during war," she said, dropping her eyes back to her book.

"But you cut it right after we finished school," he reminded. She nodded slightly.

"I did it because... it symbolized a new life. And for our Auror training." He smiled softly.

"You never let it grow out after the _Golden War_. It's been five years," he said. She finally looked back up, a thunder of emotions raging in her eyes.

"I had no reason to. That life is gone." The man slowly began to take off his right glove, exposing pale, slender fingers and a scarred palm. He placed it palm up onto the table, as if extending for her being, and stayed perfectly still.

She looked at the handsome, pale hand, tracing the shapeless scar with her eyes.

Then, she also began to take off her black silk glove, and closed her eyes tightly as she tenderly placed it into his.

Those slim, white fingers firmly closed around her own scarred hand, and the two adults silently held hands over the table.

"We're a lot alike, you know. We've seen things. We've done things. Please..."

"Shh... don't ruin it," she whispered, her eyes serenely closed. He fell silent. Everything, for those few moments, stilled to a dizzying stop. Colors and sounds and smells swirled around them, but they were bathing in bliss, ignorant of time. Until reality made itself known, and it was time to go back to living.

"I have to go," whispered the stranger regretfully. The woman refused to open her eyes.

"I love you, you know," she breathed sadly. He didn't reply, but brought her small hand up to his lips and planted a tender kiss onto her skin.

"You won't reply, will you. I knew you wouldn't. You always insist on not telling me anything. Once again, I know nothing," she said, more to herself than to the stranger that was presently straightening his top hat and pulling on his leather, ebony glove.

In one fluid motion, he stood up and turned to go without a word, then stopped and looked over his shoulder at the lonesome woman sitting in front of her huge book and glass of Bailey's Irish Cream.

"_The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing_."

She grinned widely.

"I thought you didn't know Socrates, Malfoy?" she accused with a laugh. He smirked, tipping his silk top hat over his white rose petal forehead and bowing at her mockingly.

"You don't know a lot of things, Granger. Like the fact that I love you, too." And with that he swiftly turned and left the pub, a blur of elegance and shimmering silver hair.

"_Wisdom begins in wonder_." She said quietly before going back to her book.

**Author's notes**: Schizo Flower will no longer be continued. I hate it. I have no inspiration to continue, and I despise writing it. I never want to look at it again, so if anyone wants to continue writing it, I'll gladly hand it over. I'm simply not made to write humorous stories. It's just... not my thing. Sorry to everyone who liked it, and thank you to the eight LOVELY, FABULOUS, BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL folks who actually bothered to read it and review on it. Thank you so much, and I hope you like this story, too. 'ta, sweets, I hope you like Dirt in the Ground.

Schizo Flower reviewers:

Pinkmooseofdoom: Thanks you, doll, for reviewing. Yes, he should be Padfoot. But I'm an idiot and I forgot that he wasn't Snuffles. Go figure...

FiRePHEONIXReMiXz: Thank you! :P

ZombieGurl98: Thanks.

Vietgurl0607: Nah, she wasn't that schizoid. I had no idea what I was doing when I started writing that story. Admit it, it sucked, didn't it? Thanks for reviewing, anyway, tho! ;D

Miss Piratess: Love, you give me too much credit. Personally, I LOVE your stories and I think you have a fabulous style. Thanks for reviewing, and for your sweet words!

Severus's-band: Sweets, there are TONS of great Lily/James fics out there. I suggest any from my favorites list, they rock. Thank you for your praise, tho. You're such a sweetheart! Mwah!

Luna Moonglade: Moonglade... That's such an awesome name! Anyway, thank you for reviewing, darlin'. You're a doll. ;j

And to a reviewer that reviewed the Schizo Flower that I deleted:

Tekvah Ariel: Wow, I didn't know that! A lot of people assume schizophrenia is when you have another personality (Like poor Smeagol) I'll have to look into that later. Thank you for reviewing, though! Mwah!


	2. Chapter TwO

Dirt in The Ground

By:

Penny

_The Earth died screaming_

_While I lay dreaming of you_

_-Tom Waits "Earth Died Screaming"_

_A SUFFOCATING _silence reigned in the elaborately decorated flat above the small antique and vintage clothing store.

The faint sounds from the hectic street down below could be heard over the repetitive 'tick tock' of the old grandfather clock perched in the corner. The sound was ominous and thundering against the silence.

The room, supposedly the sitting room judging by it's size, was cluttered with various stacks of thick books and boxes and old fashioned furniture. Colorful, silk pillows littered the couches and the polished cherry wood floors. Heavy, crimson drapes curtained the windows, casting a majestically red glow over the room.

A woman, around the age of thirty, was sitting on a claw footed, red velvet sofa, staring blankly at a large picture hanging on the beige colored wall.

It portrayed a poetically beautiful young man, with a long black mane dancing wildly in the wind, and vibrant blue eyes. His skin was pale and inhumanly flawless, like the surface of a sculptured ice statue. In his arms, with lush spirals of dark brown hair, was a girl. Her large brown eyes were glittering with content, and a wide smile lighted up her face.

In the corner, written in an elegant, calligraphic handwriting were the words:

_My beautiful Griffindork and I. Love you, kiddo._

_Forever yours,_

_Blaise Zabini_

She smiled softly, as she always did when she read the inscription, and stood up. Straightening out her skirt, she ran a hand through her chin length hair as she left the living room and walked into the kitchen.

A dark blue owl, snoozing peacefully on his perch by the kitchen window, clutched a crumpled piece of parchment in his sharp talons.

Hermione, for Hermione Granger was the woman's name, shook her head with a smile and gently pried the paper from her pet's claw and immediately dropped it onto the counter, as if it suddenly burned her hand.

"Who... who..." murmured the bird quietly, cracking open one violet eye to discreetly spy on his master.

Hermione, taking out her ebony wood wand, cast a dozen spells onto the parchment before cautiously picking it up and unfolding it.

_Ms. Granger,_

_We have a few items that may be of interest to you regarding your antique and vintage clothing shop in Diagon Alley:_

_A French mahogany bookshelf, perfectly preserved from the thirteenth century. 5,657 Galleons..._

The list went on, filled with many old and valuable objects that, true to the letter's word, interested Hermione greatly. Her large brown eyes scanned the list quickly, smile widening with each word. As the listing came to an end, her smile began to melt away to be replaced by a thoughtful frown.

At the bottom of the parchment, in an elegant, flowing writing was a signature: _Vitruvius Malfoy._

A Malfoy? It wasn't that surprising, since Hermione knew that the Malfoy family was rather large. Yet it still startled her that a member of such a powerful and proud family would consciously do business with a Muggle-born witch. Surely the _Golden War _hadn't affected their views that drastically.

She quickly read the letter through again, making sure she memorized the address and time at which she was to meet this Vitruvius Malfoy.

Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, nine o' clock on Wednesday.

Wednesday?

Hermione, completely disoriented, glanced at the calendar hanging on her faded blue kitchen wall.

With a groan, Hermione jumped up from her seat and rushed out of her kitchen, grabbing her cloak as she ran past her clothing rack before sprinting out the front door.

She discreetly pointed her wand over her shoulder and cast a locking charm on her door as she jogged down the hallway, pulling on her cloak as she took the stairs two at a time.

She jumped down the last five steps and landed on the old, creaking wooden floor on all fours, poised like a frightened cat.

The room in which she presently was smelled strongly of vintage furniture and French perfume. It had elaborately carved and sculpted tables and bookcases and beds that looked, and were, hundreds of years old lined up against the crème colored walls, which had fading, yet still lovely, paintings and black and white photographs hung on ever square inch of it's surface.

In one corner of the room, there were racks upon racks of beautiful gowns and suits most likely from the Renaissance era, 20's, 30's, 40's, 50's, 60's and 70's clothes.

Hermione wasn't the least bit distracted by any of the splendors around her, but strode with practiced grace towards the front door, pulling on her silk gloves as she went.

As she swung open the door, she was met with a blast of noise from the busy street before her. She closed and locked the cherry wood door and looked up at the building she knew as her home.

It was a blue Victorian town house with white window shutters. An elegant, dark blue sign hung proudly on the front, baring in gold, calligraphic cursive the title: _H&H's Antique and Vintage Clothing Shop._ _H&H's_ stood for _Hermione & Holly's._

The sophisticated building waspoised between _Flourish and Blotts Bookstore_ and a classy café, called _Rabbit Eyes. _(A/n: _Rabbit Eyes _café actually exists. I hope the owner won't mind me borrowing it for a while in my story. :)

Hermione sighed and glanced at her watch. 8:45. As she started striding down the crowded, cobblestone street, foxily dodging people, she quickened her pace when she saw Florean's in the distance.

As she finally, after a rather unpleasant experience with an obnoxious passerby who refused to move from her path, despite her polite cries, reached the parlor she was already three minutes late.

She combed through the tables with her large, sharp brown eyes for a platinum head, breathing slightly labored from her earlier struggle with the rude wizard.

Just when she was about to sit down at a vacant table and wait, she spotted a flash of two characteristic silver heads.

Sitting, (more like elegantly lounging) in the far corner were two unmistakable Malfoys. One, she immediately recognized by his long, shimmering mass of platinum locks and hidden eyes as Draco. The other, who had shoulder length hair of identical hue as her old Slytherin schoolmate, and exposed stormy grey eyes was most likely Vitruvius.

Both, she realized somewhat uneasily, were tragically beautiful.

She, on impulse, took out her large Hepburn sunglasses and quickly put them on. It wasn't wise to have naked eyes when in the presence of two Malfoys.

She began to weave her way around the tables, shoulders back and stride purposeful. She was the very image of someone who meant business.

They both respectfully stood up from their seats at seeing her approaching figure, and patiently waited for her to near.

"Good morning, gentlemen. I apologize for my delay," she said in a formal, clipped, yet relatively friendly tone.

"It's quite alright, Ms. Granger," said what she assumed was Vitruvius Malfoy. Draco, after shaking hands with her, and sending her a subtle smile, gentlemanly pulled out her chair. Both men waited until she was comfortably seated before also following example.

Vitruvius studied her face for a few moments, face devoid of emotion, and she stared back with her expression mirroring his own.

Finally, he smiled slightly and looked down to the papers lying on the table surface.

"Right, Ms. Granger, you obviously are interested in our offer..." he began in a lilting, smooth voice. Hermione winced slightly at the ever familiar, characteristic Malfoy voice. She wondered briefly if every wealthy pureblooded male was trained to have such ridiculously seductive voice. She felt lightheaded at the mere sound.

She nodded, shrugging off her cloak and hanging it on backrest.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. A few of the items grasped my interest, but I'm a afraid I am financially limited. I have yet to discuss this with my partner," she said, folding her gloved hands on the table.

Both Malfoys smirked almost simultaneously, sharing a glance that obviously signaled for something to be done or said. This made Hermione uneasy.

"Ms. Granger... Do not be dithered by financial limits. For you see..." began Vitruvius with a secret smile.

"... It's absolutely for free," finished Draco with a grin. A few beats passed in silence, where only the faint hum of voices around them was heard. Hermione stared at them blankly for a whole minute.

The two silver haired men waited patiently for a reaction. One which came surprisingly delayed.

She stared laughing.

"Hermione," began Draco with a kind smile, but any further attempt at communicating with her would be in vain, for she wasn't showing any sign of stopping her peals of mirth.

Suddenly, she abruptly stopped laughing and her expression turned grim and serious.

"I never thought Malfoys were ones to play jokes on other people. If you thought it would be funny to drag me out here with you, then you got your laugh. I'm leaving."

"Ms. Granger, please wait!" pleaded Vitruvius as she began to stand up, but she simply ignored his plea and began to slip on her cloak.

"I don't have time for this," she snapped, making to turn around. She was stopped by a leather glove that grasped her hand.

She turned around with a fierce expression to look up at the purple glasses obscuring Draco's eyes. She could see her angry reflection dancing in them.

"This is no joke. Let us explain," he said softly. She didn't know why she agreed, but half an hour she found herself back at the table sipping from a huge tankard of ice coffee.

"My, that is a rather large glass," commented Vitruvius as her sized up her ice coffee. She sent him a glare.

"You jerks better have explained everything by the time I drink this thing. Because that's as long as I'm staying," she warned, taking a huge gulp from the tankard.

"You see, Hermione, we're getting rid of Malfoy Manor," explained Draco in that damned lilting voice of his. Her eyes bulged, and she almost choked on her coffee.

Vitruvius sighed.

"And we have no use or need for all of the _tons_ of furniture. We've been giving it out to the remained of our family, but they already have enough things to furnish half of Enlgand," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.

Draco looked at her earnestly.

"It would be so nice of you to relieve us of most of our furniture. We would greatly appreciate it."

All she could do was laugh.

**Authors notes**: Guys, I am sooooooooo sorry!! I know this is a ridiculously short chapter, and it's not even good, and there are questions left unanswered... But this is all I could write in the VERY short periods of time that I am allowed on the puter. Yes, that's right, _allowed. _My parents, being the annoying jerks that they are, took away my laptop claiming that, "Computers are bad for your mind. You won't be able to concentrate on your studies." It's utter jack shit, if you ask me. But this means I won't be able to write very often. Meaning: less updates. I only get half an hour each day, IF I do all of my homework. And I have at least 10 kilos of homework each day. I usually use that time to check and reply to my mail, anyway. I'll try to write whenever I can... really I will. But don't expect too much. Once again, I'm really sorry!

_To the three most fabulous people in the world..._

total-nirvana: Hmm... I'm not sure why it's rated R. I thought it would be more dark-ish, but it turned out to be like, PG-13 materiel. Maybe I'll lower it... Anyway, thank you for your sweet words, doll! Mwah!

Miss Piratess: ::sigh:: I _wish _I knew how to write funny stories. I want to weave in some humor into DitG, but I'm not sure if it'll come out right. Anyway, onto replying to your lovely review! How did I come up with it? Well, it's been floating around in my head for some time, and I finally decided to spill it onto paper one fateful History class. I'm a bit lost with it right now... Just writing with the flow. It doesn't even have a stable plot line. Basically, it's about how Draco and Hermione deal with life after the War, and try to get back into swing. But they have issues to deal with first. Anyway, thank you sooo much for your very much appreciated and treasured words of encouragement! You are such an awesome person! Mwah!

paul is dead: Yes, bobs are very sexy. I'm glad you like Mione's looks. And I'm sorry to hear that Tom Wait's lyrics discouraged you to read my story, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! Cheers!

**Once again, I apologize for the upcoming lack of updates. I hope you all will be patient with me. Love ya, sweets!**

Penny a.k.a. xXNHXx


	3. Chapter ThReE

Dirt in the Ground

By:

Penny

_My cat is amazing_

_He can play the guitar_

_He may not be an actor_

_But he's a pussy superstar_

_-Jack Off Jill "My Cat"_

_HERMIONE WATCHED _with a detached demeanor as the bulky wizards breathlessly carried the priceless antiques into her shop, occasionally struggling with a particularly heavy item, their breaths coming out in crystallized steam before them.

She wondered briefly why they didn't just charm the objects to float in, but quickly banished the thought from her mind as a sharp, snotty voice pierced her mind, 'Because an ancient anti-enchantment charm was placed on them centuries ago! Why didn't you know that?!'

The sky was a haunting milky white, stained with a few shapeless clouds that crawled across it like bodiless phantoms. From somewhere far away, a crow cawed out a wicked and melancholy taunt.

Moon was hiding behind an invisible curtain of cloud, her obscured silhouette glowing faintly through the mist splashed across the sky.

Everything was filtering by sluggishly, as if some force chained time and was pulling it back, making every second feel like an eternity.

Hermione could hear the 'tick tock' of her grandfather clock echoing through her head, even though it was impossible for the sound to penetrate through the wall.

The Malfoys were lounging elegantly against the building wall, their whispers slithering over to taunt her even though she new they weren't discussing her. But that didn't stop paranoia from creeping over her.

Hermione was holding a clipboard, checking off the articles she saw were delivered into H&H's with a sharp, elegant swish of her quill. The other 'H' was presently standing beside her, disarrayed spirals of strawberry locks twirling in the biting wind. Her wide blue eyes followed the antique furniture being moved into the shop in stubborn disbelief and bewilderment.

"Holly, stop looking so surprised," reprimanded the brunette with a forced tease in her tone, making the aforementioned woman look at her with a sheepish smile.

"I can't help it. It's all too surreal. The most a n c i e n t and pure family in the world gave centuries worth of furniture to _us!_" exclaimed Holly excitedly, as if the truth of reality finally just hit her.

Hermione chuckled at her partner and checked off the mahogany bookcase from the XIX century that the movers were attempting to fit through the door. They weren't making much progress.

She sighed and walked over to them.

"Gentlemen, may I offer some assistance?" Not waiting for a reply, she threw down her clipboard and grasped the edge of the furniture and gently twisted it so that it was poised at an angle.

She pushed it forward, receiving gasps of horror from the wizards who feared that the priceless article would scrape against the wall, but instead it gracefully slipped in through the door unscathed.

"Thank ye, Miss Granger! You truly are clever!" gushed one of the men before running off for another item. She watched him crudely grasp an old looking chair with satin lining, and suppressed a grimace as the offender hoisted it up over his head in a less-than-elegant motion.

"Horrific manners," said a familiar smooth and polished voice from behind her. She slowly turned around and locked eyes with Vitruvius, who was almost inaudibly shaking his head.

"Very," she replied, leaning down to scoop up her clipboard. As she turned once again to face the silver haired aristocrat, she distractedly straightened her large hat.

The crow cawed once again, swooping over their heads in a blur of metallically shimmering black feathers and cruel flashes of grey eyes.

Hermione's eyes, hidden behind her large black glasses, lingered on it's black silhouette for a few unnecessary moments.

Vitruvius leaned his head back so that she glimpsed his face, grasping her attention.

"Do you like animals?" he asked simply. She blinked in surprise.

"No," she answered with a sliver of bitterness in her voice. "Only cats."

The Malfoy nodded, poising a gloved hand on his chin in a contemplative manner.

"How very appropriate. You're much like a feline yourself," he said with a mysterious smile. Hermione looked vaguely amused.

"How so?" she inquired, interest hidden under the layer of artificial indifference. He wet his lips slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, and flicked a tress of shiny platinum hair from his eye.

"You're cold and indifferent of the happenings of the world, your only concern is for your own comfort. You're graceful and elegant, with a sophisticated grace that captivates and over-whelms those around you. You care much for your own privacy..." he explained softly, tracing the rim of her sunglass and hat as if to emphasis his point.

She flinched and turned her head to the side, feeling irrationally angry. She was furious at him for unraveling her so quickly, so thoughtlessly... Was she really that easy to read?

As she turned her head, her eyes unintentionally fell onto the second aristocrat, who was still leaning against the wall, thunderous and beautiful and smoother than a silver blade.

The streetlights flickered to life, casting an ominous curtain of sickly yellow light onto the scene.

The cruel light bathed him in it's glow, making his translucent white skin display his winding blue veins.

The moon shaped scar on his cheek glittered, and her distressed reflection was visible in his dark purple glasses.

He smiled.

Vitruvius laughed.

"Hermione!"

She whirled around so quickly her hat flew from her head, and was carried away by the wind to land somewhere down the street.

Hermione watched impassively as a wizard carelessly trampled it, leaving nothing but a mockery of her beloved hat.

"Hermione!"

She looked up to see her redheaded co-worker, Holly, running towards her with a huge smile slapped onto her face.

"They're done! They got everything in, everything! Oh, did you check out that huge chest with all of those gorgeous gowns? I was swimming in it for like, and hour! Oh! Did you see that beautiful stained glass lamp? And- hey, where's your hat?"

Hermione smiled at her friend, smiling at her enthusiastic rant, smiling at her wonderful timing. She then ran a hand through her hair.

"The wind took it," she said sadly. Holly gave her a strange look, but continued to smile anyway.

"You always were strange, Mione," she said.

"Like a cat," added Vitruvius with a grin, then gracefully bowed himself from the conversation and floated back to his cousin, his silver hair fluttering in the breeze like a dove's feathers.

"Like a cat," repeated Holly blankly. She gave her friend an inquisitive look. Hermione shrugged her shoulders, a laugh lingering on her lips.

"Didn't you always like cats, Mione?" she asked with a tinkling laugh. Hermione smiled again.

"Yeah, I did."

**A/n:** Uuuuh... you can pelt me with rotten broccoli right about now, if you want to... Talk about a pointless chapter! I'm so sorry for not making it better! Like I said before, I'm so busy with school that the only time I have time to write is at three o' clock in the morning. Once again, sorry for the horrid and SHORT chapter. Thanks for sticking with me anyway, though!

daniels-girl1: Thank you! You're so sweet!

Miss Piratess: ::looks stunned:: What?! Wish you could write _pretty?_! Are you mad, woman? You write _BEAUTIFULLY!!! _How can you think otherwise? Oh, and thanks for your praise! Lol...

severus's-bane: Nah, I'm not going to continue it. But thank you for liking it anyway! And THANK YOU for liking this thing, too. Mwah!


	4. Chapter FoUr

Dirt In the Ground

By:

Penny

_MRS. ALLONBY. The one advantage of playing with fire, Lady  
Caroline, is that one never gets even singed. It is the people who  
don't __know__ how to play with it who get burned up._

_-Fragment from Oscar Wilde's "A Woman of No Importance" satire_

"_WHO?" _

_HERMIONE _Granger woke with a start, a strangled cry lingering on her parched lips. The flat was silent for the repetitive 'tick tock' of her clock, which penetrated the quiet ominously. A heavenly, ethereal curtain of glimmering silk spilled in through the window, tears of the Moon.

"Who?"

She looked up from her pillow, disoriented, tired, and noticed that her old, scorched coffee table was replaced by a beautiful, masterfully carved table shaped out of the finest ebony. It gleamed darkly, enchantingly, in the faint flicker of dying embers still glowing in her fireplace. For a nanosecond, she thought she saw the reflection of a grey eye reflect on the polished surface of the table. The thought faded from her mind as quickly as it had come, and was lost forever in the pool of her thoughts.

"Who?"

Who was that?

She combed through her room with a dulled gaze, halfheartedly wondering if there was a ghost in her flat.

She finally located the owner of the slow, owlish voice. For it was indeed an owl. One with glimmering blue feathers specked with random flecks of gold, and with large violet eyes that watched her motionlessly, carefully.

"Elizabeth!" she cooed with an affectionate smile, hoisting her body from the couch and approaching her familiar with an outstretched hand.

Elizabeth allowed the delicate hand to stroke his feathers, and he seemed to almost purr in delight.

_Like a cat. _

"Darling, are you hungry?" she asked, distractedly flickering her gaze up to her beloved grandfather clock. It was eleven in the evening, and night had already blanketed the sky in it's diamond cloak of black.

"Who," answered the bird, creaking open one orb of an eye. Hermione offered her wrist as a temporary means of transport, and Elizabeth hopped on with an owlish grace.

The woman with short brown hair and big, sleepy doe eyes walked into her kitchen, her bare feet padding softly on the cool tiled floor.

The kitchen's faint yellow light flickered to life almost sleepily.

"Here you go, love," she whispered, easing her familiar onto the wooden perch by the window. She filled his small porcelain bowl with owl feed, and sprinkled some fresh water into the bowl's twin.

"Like a cat..." she murmured softly, her head spinning with dulled emotions and blurring thoughts. Everything felt ethereal, as if the earlier happenings had taken place in another life, in another world.

She was unpleasantly aware of her non – pain, what she _wasn't _feeling. She was painfully conscious of herself; her skin, her bones, her organs... Her stomach rumbled, and she felt sick at the sound.

Opening the fridge, she relished in the brief feel of sharp cold that swept over her the moment she opened the refrigerator, closing her eyes in pure, unbothered bliss.

"Who."

She sighed, and took out the milk carton before reluctantly shutting the fridge door with a snap. She was engulfed in the suffocating, sticky warmth of her house again. Hermione felt her hair beginning to plaster itself onto her neck like a sweaty slug.

She swirled out a bowl from a cabinet and filled it with cereal up to the brim, before sluggishly and haphazardly dumping the white liquid into her cornflakes.

It spluttered and sent chubby drops spraying onto the table, where they lay like angel's tears. They dissolved and turned into what they really were: fat drops of milk.

"Ugh," she mumbled in distaste, emptying the contents of the bowl into the drain. She listened to the sickening 'chrug chrug' as her food was being mercilessly grinded into miniscule bits.

"Whooo," protested Elizabeth, giving Hermione a disapproving glance. She frowned at the bird, rubbing her forearms as if she were cold. Although she longed for the sensation of a chill.

"I know, Elizabeth. I'm just not hungry. I feel... sick. Aware," explained Hermione persistently.

"Who," asked the bird in concern. She smiled weakly.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just a bit queasy is all." Elizabeth fluffed her feathers and spun her head, eyes rolling skyward.

"Who!! Who!" Hermione laughed her silly, tinkling laugh.

"Thank you, darling. I'll keep that in mind!"

A weak knock penetrated the night.

Hermione, startled, rushed over to her mahogany door and stood on the tips of her bare feet to peer through the peep hole at her unexpected guest.

A gasp slipped past her lips, and she struggled to quickly open the door. As the slab of wood swung open, a body feel gracelessly forward and into her arms.

The body was of a lean, slender build, with hints of malnutrition judging by it's weight and the unhealthy paleness of it's skin. Floppy, wild red hair grew from the head like fantastical grass, shining when it caught the light.

It looked up, and Hermione met with wounded blue eyes and a fat, bleeding lip.

"George!"

A/n: Where am I _going _with this thing?! I have absolutely no fathoming. I'm sorry for the short chapter, _again. _But, hey, I've got a question for you guys. WOULD YOU RATHER frequent updates but _short _chapters, or seldom updates but _looong _chapters? It's your choice. Even though I have no idea where this is heading, I enjoy writing it. And, also, sorry for the inaccurate quotes. Haven't you noticed that they have nothing to do with the actual chapter? Sorry. It's just that I see a quote, and I like it, and I'm too impatient to wait for a moment in my story where it'll actually _fit,_ you know? I hope it doesn't bother you guys. I love you guys for actually putting up with me and my tangled, crazy story! Thanks so much!!

Miss Piratess: Wow... "chilling". Your words flattered me for some reason. I'm glad it had that affect. I added the cat thing almost as an afterthought... It just randomly popped into my head.

My _words _may be nice, but my planning isn't. Everything is totally unorganized. Thank you so much, though, for your support. Love to the Miss P!!

total-nirvana: Lol. You're so cute! Such a silly chicken poster. I'm _so _glad you understand my school issue. It can be a real pain! And thank you so much for your praise! It really flattered me! Ahh... Even I have to admit that Vitruvius is divine. He's based on my brother-in-law, actually. Okleedoklee, love to the total-nirvana!! Mwah!

Lemon-drop-101: '"...for igniting my souls fuse, it blew me away." Wow. I did that? ::floats away on a cloud of bliss:: Mwah!

gio1: Aww, thank you! You're a sweetie pie!

GrAyeyez: Thank you! You write very well, too! I checked out your story, but I didn't have time to review. Rock on, and keep hold on to your dreams! Love to the Dawn!

damned for eternity: Yeah... welcome to the club. I'm absolutely confused too.


	5. Chapter FiVe

Dirt In the Ground

By:

Penny

_Trying to be ruthless in the face of beauty_

_In this matrix_

_It's plain to see_

_It's either you or me_

_Bruise_

_Pristine _

_Serene _

_We were born to lose_

_-Placebo "Bruise Pristine"_

"_I'M SORRY,_" he whispered tiredly, wincing slightly as the cool, moist cloth brushed away the sliver of blood making a slender path down his cheek. Hermione smiled gently, tenderly tucking a string of red hair behind his ear.

"For what, love?" she asked as she removed the cloth and busied herself with unwrapping a bandage. He sighed heavily, shifting so that his face was poised away from her. Away from her kind, cold eyes.

"For barging into your house at eleven o' clock uninvited, bleeding, and unwanted," he explained in a small, pained voice. Hermione laughed.

"George, you're never unwanted. Your hurt, and since I'm your friend I will clean you up. You're always invited here." George offered a weak smile at her words. Always friendly, always tolerant.

He stared mutely at the large, majestic grandfather clock standing proudly in the far corner of the room, feeling a warmth begin to unfold in the floor of his stomach.

Hermione worked silently and swiftly, tending to his wounds and watching his eyes. They were shining unnaturally, as if a light was just beginning to burn out behind them. They were troubled, yet forcefully blank. She knew those eyes. They were her own.

"Do you like cats, George?" she asked, smoothing the white strip of material wrapped around his forehead. He shifted his gaze up to her nose, where he stared at it unblinkingly. His lips trembled, as if the word was hovering inside his mouth, but was being held back.

Hermione watched him, feeling herself shrink and shrivel with irrational nervousness. She felt as if her world depended on his answer... Cats were liked, weren't they? They were nice... weren't they?

...Weren't they?

"Yes," he answered finally, gracing the clock with his intense gaze once again. She let out a long, breathy exhale of breath. It felt as if someone had been standing on her, and finally had shifted their weight, granting her the ability to breathe.

"Why is it so important I like them?" asked George, still staring at her clock as if it were the only thing to look at.

"Who!"

"Coming, Elizabeth!" she shakily stood up and without a backwards glance, sprinted into the kitchen and embraced her familiar.

She held the bird long and hard, nuzzling it's soft feathers with her nose, pushing back the insane giggle bubbling in the back of her throat. Elizabeth stood still and allowed himself to be hugged, hooting comfortingly every so often.

Finally, she sat the bird back onto it's perch, and smiled at him gratefully. She hurriedly made some coffee, pouring the strong liquid into two heavy, chipped mugs. She watched the steam rise phantomly into the air and disperse into oblivion. She twirled her forefinger in the mist, watching as it shaped and danced and then rose again. She giggled.

She carried the mugs back into the living room, expecting to see George Weasley sprawled out on her sofa, just as she had left him, but instead her large brown eyes fell onto her empty couch.

"George?" she asked in a small voice, frantically searching the room for her wounded friend. There he was. Crouching in front of her grandfather clock, gently tracing the flowery designs carved into it's gleaming surface.

She sighed, and set down the mugs onto her ebony coffee table.

Hermione kneeled down next to him, watching his pale finger wind around a detailed rose.

"It used to be Blaise's," she said quietly. George nodded almost inaudibly, eyes drooping shut.

"It's amazing. The clock, I mean," he murmured. She smiled sadly.

"I know. It's... soothing, isn't it? I wonder why," she said. He chuckled darkly. He shifted so that he was facing her, eyes suddenly brimming with earnestness.

"Because you loved him. A small, precious part of him still lingers in this clock," he said, his voice smooth and strong and laced with passion. She stared at him, eyes shining, eyelashes fluttering like mad in an attempt to hold off the inevitable tears.

George suck in a shaky, trembling, happy breath of warm, sticky air, and slowly pulled out something long, skin-colored and rubbery.

Hermione laughed throatily. "A rubber chicken?" she asked incredulously. George smiled.

"It's one of those... precious, spiritual, sentimental things I have left of Fred. I show it to him whenever I visit him in the hospital..." he trailed off, his voice violently braking as his whole frame shuddered with a heavy, silent sob.

Hermione had seen many people cry. Too many. She had heard the anguished screams of mothers and fathers, the sloshing blubbering cries of little children, the kind of crying that makes you throw up.... All of them were horrible, but the worst cry of them all was the one that left your heart dropping to your feet.

George sat there, broken, trembling, body heaving with mute sobs.

The worst kind of crying was where you couldn't even make a sound.

His mouth was twisted in a silent scream, his eyes were tightly screwed shut, but the tears still leaked through, where they flowed down his haunted face like glistening bits of pure diamond.

Hermione could do nothing but offer him his coffee. For she, too, was mutely crying.

The clock reverberated with it's slow, melancholy chime, embracing them like a mother's whispered lullaby.

And then they stopped crying, and smiled down at the rubber chicken and the beautiful clock.

A/n: Haha. See? Short but frequent chapters! Woohoo! I've finally come up with a reasonably stable spine for this story. This chapter was to show you the effect the _Golden War _had on _other _peoples. To make it more clear for you, Fred is at St. Mungos. He's with the Longbottoms. You know what I mean? He was driven insane during the War. Maybe I'll delve into it more, maybe I won't, so it's best if you know it right now anyway. Okleedoklee. That's it. Love you guys!

Miss Piratess: You never cease to make me feel so wonderful. Words can't describe my gratitude for your kind, sweet words! They truly motivate me to continue with this thing. You are the most amazing person I know!Thank you so much! Mwah!

SerpentineAngel14: I SO LOVE YOU TOO!! Lol. Thanks, doll!


	6. Chapter SiX

Dirt in the Ground

By:

Quixotic-Feline

" _We can never see a table, because all we see is a shape or representation, but we believe there is a table because we believe the table causes the representation."-John Searle, Philosophy Prof. at UC Berkeley_

_THE DEAD, _naked willows, with their massive arms and gnarled fingers, reached out sinisterly over the crumbling wall. Wicked black blurs were scattered in their twisted depths. Crows. Evil, black crows.

The sky was an ill shade of pale grey. The vague outline of the Moon weakly penetrated the sour fog, and spilt her glitter onto the lonely graves.

Graves. Old, rotted, crumbling, weed infested graves... And the new, gleaming, polished, pampered graves. Mere blocks of stone standing guard over the rotting corpses hidden away in dusty coffins.

The churchyard was deserted, save for the lone figure lying on a beautiful, entirely white marble grave.

It was a woman, with haunted eyes and a wistful smile lingering on her lips. She was whispering, her silver words carried away by the sympathetic wind.

"...He was so sad. So sad. I was sad, too," she was saying to the grave, slender fingers gently caressing the surface of the marble, like one would do on a lover's cheek.

"I've brought you a flower, as always," she whispered, and slowly took out a crimson rose from inside her coat. She twirled it around in her fingers, eyes swallowing it's elegance, before placing it delicately against the headstone.

_Blaise Isaac Zabini_

_Died heroically and honorably in the Golden War, protecting the Light,_

_His memory will linger in the hearts of those who adored him._

"_Death is not the worst than can happen to men." _

The woman stared at these words, carved masterfully into the stone. They shimmered and gleamed in the dim moonlight, as if assuring her of their truth.

"He's home now. Sleeping. I slept with him, you know," she said. The wind, which had been shifting lazily near the ground, suddenly reignited it's energy and angrily swirled the dead leaves into the air.

The woman jingled with laughter.

"Oh, Blaise, get your head out of the gutter!" she scolded playfully. "I slept by his side. Not _with _him. He needed me."

The wind calmed, and the leaves rustled in what vaguely sounded like a sigh of relief.

"Silly kiddo. Anyway, what do you think of the Malfoys?" she asked. "I've already mentioned the wonderful furniture they _gave _me," she said.

The trees rocked in the wind, which was now accompanied with a bite of frost. The crows fled from their disfigured branches, shrieking as they did so.

"Don't trust them, huh?" she teased, but with a sad note to her voice. The wind slowed, and regained it's friendly warmth. It embraced her lovingly, playing with the hair she decided to curl this morning.

"I know you're only concerned about me. But, really, they're not bad. I don't completely trust them, either, but... they're okay." She smiled, leaning into the breeze.

"I must go now. I have to check up on George... I love you, kiddo," she whispered, and laughed as the wind howled, spinning and twirling and glittering with drops of autumn mist. Then, it calmed, and a single golden leaf floated down to rest on her cheek, brushing against her skin like a lover's kiss.

With a half sad, half goofily happy smile brightening up her face, Hermione Granger left the cemetery.

O o O o O

Hermione quietly eased the front door open, slipping in like a shadow. She carefully took off her heels and tiptoed over to her bedroom.

Creaking open the hand carved, ebony door, she peaked in through the gap. Lying in a tangled heap of covers and blankets, with a mop of bright red hair sticking out endearingly, was the slumbering form of George Weasley.

With a fond smile, she gently closed the door.

The sky was beginning to blush with the earliest rays of dawn. A faint, pink and orange tint colored the paleness surrounding to sinking Moon.

Hermione, sliding out of her coat, sunk into the nearest stool by the kitchen counter. She set the water to boil and prepared herself a buttered slice of bread, and a few sandwiches in case George stirred from his peaceful sleep.

A small pile of mail was waiting for her on the stove. With a weary sigh, she shuffled through the envelopes. Bill, bill, letter from Holly, bill, Zonko's advertisement, bill...

With mild interest, Hermione tore open her partner's envelope.

_Hey, My'O! _

_You'll never guess what...!! I had lunch with Vitruvius Malfoy yesterday, to discuss some business, and as it turns out they have more furniture for us to take! I was ecstatic, of course, until I mentioned the fact that we didn't have enough room in our modest little shop. So Vitty _Here Hermione paused to raise an incredulous eyebrow at the nickname _suggested that we open up another H&H's in Hogsmeade! What do you think? Don't even worry about financial costs, Vitty and Drake said they have everything covered. Merlin, I'm so excited! Write back, pronto, My'O!!!!! _

_Xoxoxox,_

_Holly _

Not knowing what to think, Hermione slid the letter back into it's envelope and took a bite from her bread, chewing thoughtfully. For some reason, Vitruvius's newly acquired nickname bothered her enormously.

At that moment, a very sleepy and very groggy Weasley stumbled into the kitchen.

"G'mornin', My'O," he croaked, flumping into the seat next to his host. With a moment's hesitance, he grabbed a sandwich and bit into it.

"Was' in de mail?" he asked through a mouthful of boloney and bread. Hermione smiled affectionately at him, casually nibbling on her breakfast. She handed him a glass of milk, which he took a huge gulp from gratefully.

"Nothing, really. Just a letter from Holly. Oh, Vitty and Drake Malfoy send you their love." She ducked, laughing, as a spray of milk soared over her head.

**A/n: **So short... But y'all know why by now, right? School. If I had more time, trust me, I would write more. But, see? I'm improving with my frequency!! Yay!!

_Miss Piratess: _Thank you! Fred and George are one of my favorite characters in HP, so I simply _had _to but at least one of them in. Even if it came out randomly. Oh, well. ;D

_GrAyeyez: _I hope this chapter will clear it some for you! )


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